by James Walker
“Captain,” Cena cried in dismay.
“Stealth and microfilaments,” Pierson hissed.
“It's a Ghost,” Celeste exclaimed. “Turn on active optics if you've got them.”
“The only suit with active optics is Vic's Grenadier,” Cena replied. “The rest of us are fighting blind.”
A squadron of Union exosuits poured out of the palace, weapons blazing. The outnumbered rebels spread out and returned fire, backed up by the infantry and the few remaining battle drones. Explosions and heavy arms fire laced across the courtyard in all directions, engulfing the grounds in frenzied chaos.
Cena and Guntar dove into the thick of the enemy squadron. By breaking up the enemy's formation with their mad rush and staying on top of their foes, they prevented the enemy from spreading out and eliminating them with a crossfire lest they hit their own comrades. Now in the enemy's midst, Cena drew her suit's monomolecular cutter and lashed out with reckless abandon, severing limbs and impaling engine blocks. Behind her, Guntar crushed an opponent's cockpit block with a body blow to the chest, then lifted the lifeless suit off its feet and used it as a shield while he charged another foe.
“Not bad, Colonel,” Cena exclaimed as she ducked a spray of fire from a nearby foe, then severed its arm. “Never would have guessed an old man like you was packing those kinds of moves.”
“Ha.” Hector threw the enemy suit he had been using as a shield at another foe, knocking it over, and raked it with machine gun fire before it could regain its feet. “I'm not about to be shown up by you punk kids.”
“Great.” Cena spun around aimed her gun in the direction of the melee unfolding on the other side of the courtyard. “Now let's go help the oth—”
Guntar spied a glow of azure energy from behind Cena and ran toward her, shouting, “Look out!”
“Wha—?” Cena started to turn around.
Guntar shouldered Cena's exosuit out of the way just as a cluster of particle beams erupted from a seemingly empty space nearby. The beams lanced into Guntar's suit, blasting chunks off the hull. One of the beams sliced through the canopy, spraying molten metal onto the pilot.
Guntar howled in agony as his body burned to cinders. The attack had destroyed all of his on-board weapons, but his exosuit maintained its mobility. He hurled his suit at the attack's origin, ejected a fuel cell from his backpack, grasped it firmly in one hand, and shattered it over his suit's other arm. The ensuing explosion consumed his suit and cast a fiery silhouette over the enemy's Ghost, burning out its stealth system.
“Bastard,” Cena screamed. She raised her machine gun and opened fire on the exposed enemy. “You cowardly piece of shit!”
The Ghost activated its deflection shield, sending Cena's bullets veering off-course. She ran toward her foe even as she continued firing. While keeping one arm raised to maintain its shield, the Ghost drew its other arm back and then lashed out, tearing Cena's gun arm to pieces with invisible microfilaments.
The Ghost drew its other arm back and lashed out again. This time, Cena sidestepped the attack and lunged forward, swinging her blade. The Ghost leapt out of range and unleashed another barrage of particle beams, blasting most of Cena's suit to pieces.
As her suit's shattered remains fell backward, Cena hurled her sword at the enemy like a spear. The blade impaled the enemy's cockpit with such force that it penetrated all the way through the back, dripping with blood. The Ghost toppled forward and lay still.
Choking on the smoke that filled her cockpit, Cena turned the valve that manually opened the canopy and drew her enormous revolver. She leapt out of her suit's burning carcass and sprinted across the battlefield through a rain of explosions and heavy arms fire. Somehow, she managed to reach the severed torso of Tinubu's exosuit, resting against the palace wall.
She climbed onto the wreck, found the manual release valve, and gave it a turn. She leapt back as the canopy swung open, then looked hesitantly inside the cockpit. Tinubu's still form sat within a cocoon of air bags. His face was caked with blood, but as a window of light shone over him, he stirred and slowly opened his eyes.
“Captain, you're alive,” Cena exclaimed.
Tinubu groaned. “Sergeant Northwood? What are you doing out of your suit?”
“It got trashed by a Ghost,” Cena replied. “Colonel Artega has been killed. Can you move?”
“Let's find out.” Tinubu pushed the airbags out of his way and unfastened his restraints. “Hurts like hell, but everything still seems to be attached.”
“Good enough, right?” Cena held out her hand. “Here, I'll help you out.”
“Thanks.” Tinubu accepted Cena's hand and clambered out of his cockpit. Once out of the wreckage, he said, “As if General Childers wasn't enough, now we've lost another good officer to these bastards. But there will be time for mourning later. Let's link up with the infantry. Even if our suits are wrecked, we're still not out of this fight.”
*
On the other side of the courtyard, Vic, Pierson, and Celeste moved to engage the rest of the enemy squadron. Vic held back and let Pierson and Celeste take the lead, using his suit's heavy armaments to provide fire support. Celeste exploited her flight capability to soar over the enemies' heads, raining shots from her plasma rifle down on them. At the same time, Pierson engaged them with a bold frontal assault, weaving in and out of the enemy so quickly that they risked hitting each other by trying to fire on him.
A fusillade of azure beams erupted from the rear of the enemy formation, aiming for Celeste's airborne suit. Celeste's finely-honed battle instincts and enhanced reflexes enabled her to escape the attack with a barrel roll, though one of the beams grazed her fuselage. Pierson opened fire on the attack's origin, but his shots hit nothing—the enemy had already moved.
“Vic, can you track the enemy?” Pierson said. “My suit's not equipped with active optics.”
“On it,” Vic exclaimed.
Vic panned his camera cross the enemy formation until his active optics highlighted a silhouette moving near the right flank. He opened fire with his rotary gun only to have the shots repelled by a deflection shield. He supplemented the attack with a volley from his missile launcher and a shot from his sniper cannon, but the target executed a series of wild maneuvers by firing its thrusters at full power, causing every shot to miss its mark.
“Damn,” Vic snarled. “He's gotta be an augment with those moves.”
“Something's coming from behind,” Astral cried. “Vic, move! Now!”
Obeying without question, Vic flung his suit to the side. A modified Rampart lunged past him, barely missing impaling his cockpit on its blade. The Rampart forced him back with a burst from its machine gun, then moved to intercept Pierson.
“Major Cutter can handle himself,” Vic said. “I'll keep gunning for the Ghost.”
Before he could chase after the Ghost, another enemy suit moved to intercept him. He easily deflected its attack with his heavily-armored forearm and obliterated his foe with a shot from his shoulder-mounted cannon, but the momentary distraction caused him to lose sight of the Ghost. He swept his main camera from side to side, searching in vain for the invisible foe.
“Where'd he go?” Vic whispered. “Astral, can you sense—”
“Vic,” Pierson's frantic voice cut him off. “Vic, back me up. This guy is unreal!”
Vic swiveled his camera to center on Pierson. “Who in the world could give Major Cutter a hard time?”
Pierson and the modified Rampart were engaged in a frenzied melee. The Rampart moved with a fluidity that Vic had never seen in a exosuit. It evaded Pierson's strikes with ease, countering with well-coordinated thrusts and slashes from its blade that were tearing Pierson's suit apart piece by piece.
“Hang on, Major,” Vic called as he maneuvered his suit into a flanking position. “I'll cover you.”
Vic drew a bead on the Rampart and squeezed off a burst from his rotary gun. With uncanny agility, the Rampart spun to the far side of Piers
on's suit, forcing Vic to cease fire or hit his ally. The Rampart fired a burst under Pierson's shoulder, punching dents into Vic's armor. An instant later, the Rampart dropped underneath a swing from Pierson, then drove its knife into his engine. Pierson's suit smoked and sputtered, then toppled over and fell silent. The Rampart straightened up to its full height and pointed its knife at Vic, silently declaring its next victim.
*
Celeste saw another flash of blue and evaded the ensuing fusillade of particle beams with another high-g maneuver. Her active optics were having trouble tracking the Ghost through the dust kicked up by the battle. Another couple of grunts tried to shoot her down with their rifles, but she silenced them with two quick shots from her plasma rifle before turning her attention back to the main threat.
She pushed her suit into a sharp dive and flew down into the smoke, firing her thrusters just in time to avoid pasting her suit into the ground. Her gaze darted back and forth, searching out her unseen adversary, when a perturbation in the smoke on her left prompted her to duck. She never saw the microfilaments that passed barely a meter over her head, but she could trace the path that they cut through the smoke.
She mentally estimated the enemy's location, leveled her plasma rifle, and squeezed off a burst of shots. The first few rounds flew off into the billowing dust, but then one found its mark, impacting on the Ghost in a ball of green flame. The active optics painted a fuzzy silhouette over the impact point and Celeste fired her thrusters at full blast, blazing toward the target.
The enemy responded with another barrage of particle beams, which Celeste weaved through with only centimeters to spare on multiple sides. She simultaneously drew one of her swords with her free hand while returning fire with her plasma rifle. The target flew away from her in a series of weaving dodges that caused her shots to go wide, then it lashed out with its left arm. She banked to avoid the strike, though not in time to avoid having the blade of her sword cut to pieces.
“That's all right.” She drew her second sword. “I've got another one.”
The next particle beam went far wide as Celeste's trajectory took her to the enemy's flank. With agony-inducing g-forces, she executed a tight turn that took her on an intercept course with the target, corrected for one final attempt by the Ghost to dodge, and slashed it across the chest with her sword, sending it flying to the ground in a shower of sparks. Her suit hit the ground and dug deeply into the dirt to arrest its momentum. Even as she skidded to a halt, she turned and fired several shots into the collapsed Ghost, hitting its fuel compartment and causing it to erupt in a geyser of flame.
She drew her suit to its full height and swept her main camera across the battlefield. “Now,” she whispered, “how are the others faring?”
5 9
Vic stared at the Rampart in trepidation. “I can't believe it,” he said. “That thing took out Major Cutter like it was nothing.”
“There's something strange about that pilot,” Astral said. “I can sense a trace of Scathe's power from him.”
Vic's blood ran cold. “Is it Falsrain?”
“No,” Astral said. “Falsrain must have bestowed a sliver of power on him. I think he's moving his suit with the power of his mind.”
The Rampart rushed toward Vic, firing its rifle. Vic rocketed to the side and returned fire with his rotary gun. The Rampart responded by skating to the right, causing the initial burst to miss. Vic tracked its movement and the two of them traded shots while they circled each other, scoring only glancing blows.
“You won't beat him like this,” Astral cried. “He can move his suit as easily as his own body. You have to even the odds.”
“How?” Vic exclaimed.
“Link minds with me.”
“But we've never tried that in combat,” Vic objected. “We've hardly even had a chance to practice it.”
The Rampart, tiring of the long-range duel, sharpened the angle of its circling movement and closed the distance to Vic. Recalling how easily it bested Pierson in close combat, Vic activated his thrusters to fly backward when a thunderous impact brought his suit to a halt. He had just rocketed directly into the wall of the inner courtyard—and the Rampart was coming right at him, its knife drawn back to strike.
“All right,” Vic shouted. “Do it!”
With disorienting swiftness, Astral's mind seeped into Vic's own. Like a projecting shadow, Vic saw the path of the enemy's movement in his mind's eye. He turned his suit to the side just as the Rampart thrust at him; then, seeing the enemy pilot's intentions, he raised his right arm to intercept the follow-up swing while simultaneously aiming a punch at the Rampart's torso.
With blistering speed, the Rampart blocked Vic's punch and the two suits struggled against each other with their arms locked. Vic intended to use his suit's superior mass to force the Rampart down until he perceived his foe's plan to drop onto its back and fling him over its head, a move that would have been impossible using standard controls.
Realizing the danger, Vic broke off contact and pulled back, simultaneously firing a point-blank shot from his heavy cannon. The shell struck the Rampart in its knife arm, shattering it with a fiery explosion. As the Rampart staggered from the impact, its shadow skated backward and raised its rifle.
Vic lunged and drew his monomolecular cutter. As the Rampart raised its rifle, he sliced through the barrel, then thrust the blade into the Rampart's head, tearing it clean off. He read the Rampart's desperate tackle and intercepted it by raising his suit's knee and striking it in the chest. Finally, as the Rampart flew onto its back, he raked its fallen form with shots from his rotary gun, crippling it.
*
Ridley cursed as his exosuit went down with a series of jarring impacts. Despite their superior numbers and equipment, the entire exosuit squadron had been wiped out. But he wasn't out of the fight yet. As long as he still drew breath, he would not allow the intruders to get anywhere near the governor.
He grabbed his sidearm, opened the canopy, and emerged from his exosuit's broken husk. A cursory examination of the battle-scarred courtyard revealed that only two enemy exosuits remained, but their infantry unit was still at fighting strength and advancing toward the inner courtyard. Ridley ran to the wreckage of a nearby exosuit, took cover behind its damaged hull, and pulled his comm off his belt.
“This is Director Nimh. My exosuit squadron has been overcome. Enemy infantry are heading for the inner courtyard. Send all available forces to intercept.”
“Negative, sir,” came the reply.
“What?” Ridley hissed. “Explain yourself!”
“An aerial transport is en route to evacuate critical personnel,” the comm operator answered. “The palace guard has been ordered to secure the landing zone.”
“Dammit.” Ridley flicked off the communicator and leaned around the wrecked exosuit. “I'll just have to take care of this myself, then.”
He took aim at the nearest rebel soldier, about twenty meters distant, and squeezed off several shots. The soldier staggered as two of the shots struck his body armor, failing to penetrate it, and the third bullet hit him in the arm. His comrades hit the ground and returned fire with semi-automatic rifles. Ridley pulled back behind cover as bullets ricocheted off the downed exosuit's armor and bit into the dirt at his feet. He fired several blind shots around the corner, then spotted three rebels trying to flank him. He sprinted for a nearby piece of rubble that provided a better position. The trip took an extremely dangerous two seconds as bullets whistled around him, then he leapt for safety and ducked behind the new cover.
He peered out from behind the rubble and saw the same three soldiers running to get behind him. He squeezed off several more shots, downing the first soldier with multiple hits to the legs. As the other two bolted for cover, he used the reprieve to perform a rapid reload.
He glanced around his cover and saw the bulk of the enemy troops heading deeper into the complex. He pulled off a few more shots at the soldiers who had tried to get beh
ind him, to force their heads down, then turned his attention back to the main force. They had moved out of effective range, so he began sprinting for another piece of cover closer to them, intending to flank them.
A deafening roar echoed from close by and something struck him in the shoulder with great force. He wheeled to his left and saw an enemy soldier approaching with a gigantic revolver. Before he could return fire, two more rounds erupted from the revolver and struck him in the chest. He let out a cry and fell.
*
Cena covered the rest of the distance to the trooper who had tried to ambush the infantry unit and stood over him. As he feebly tried to raise his pistol, she stomped on his wrist and ground his hand into the dirt, then pointed her revolver at him, intending to finish him off. She hesitated when she saw the face behind the helmet.
“Director Nimh?” she exclaimed.
The director stared at her in puzzlement, then a light of recognition flickered in his eyes. “You're that pilot,” he gasped. “The one who had been impaled by the Spacy augment. I remember ordering you put in the regen tank. So, you're still fighting.”
“Well, maybe I can return the favor,” Cena said. “Hang on and I'll go get the medic. Though if you've got Messenger syndrome like the rest of Falsrain's victims, I'm not sure there's much hope for you.”
Cena took Ridley's pistol, then ran back to the main force. To her surprise, she found that they had been joined by Pierson.
“Major Cutter?” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
“They disabled my suit,” Pierson replied.
“Even you, Major?” Cena said in disbelief. “But listen, you won't believe this. That lone trooper who tried to flank us is Director Nimh. I put three rounds in him. He needs immediate medical attention.”
